Chapter 1

Romeo

The fire crackles, whispering its own secret language and producing smoke that wafts through the air. It creates a woodsy scent that tickles against my nostrils and leaves a dry taste on my tongue. Besides the fireplace stand two metal poles for the sole purpose of sifting the hot charcoal.

Not that I’ve actually used them myself…

Streaks of sunlight slice through the expansive windows and bounce off the gold lettering etched across the spine of leather-bound novels that line the shelves. The library is mainly for show, but every now and then, I choose one to read. A man should never be too busy to enjoy literature.

My fingers curl around the wooden horse in my hand when a knock sounds across the office. It’s a firm thud that travels through the oak door, whipping my attention.

I act cool and raise an eyebrow at Mario, sitting in front of me, and his dark eyes widen in surprise.

“I thought my schedule was clear today,” I say, and place the knight onto the chessboard.

It’s rare for me to get visitors, especially during the day.

After the chess session, I plan to take a much-needed visit to one of our nightclubs downtown to check our revenue from last month. Our sales have spiked for some reason, and while I’m pleased, I need to restructure for the longevity of the club.

Mario gulps.  “I’ll check who it is.”

I lean back into the high-back leather chair as he scuttles towards the door. His promptness and dedication is the main reason why he’s been my trusted right-hand man for the last decade.

I gaze at the chessboard made from glass. Mario is a dreadful chess player. If I calculate correctly, I’m already two moves away from checkmate, and he’s only moved one piece.

Mario’s hand grips tightly around the golden doorknob and pulls it open, allowing the door to swing open. One of the guards is standing behind the door with sweat dripping down his forehead.

Did he run upstairs? If so, why?

“Good morning, sir,” the guard bows.

His black uniform clings against his giant frame, the collar pressing against his broad shoulders.

“What is it?” I ask, ignoring the formalities.

“There’s a woman downstairs who wants to see you. She says she wants to discuss important business regarding her late husband, Darius Williams,” the guard says.

Darius Williams? He was one of the richest entrepreneurs in New York and the leading competitor of all the private clubs in Downtown Manhattan until he passed away last month. His wife publicly mourned his death. However, like me, most of my family, the Serano’s, strongly believe that his passing was no accident.

Mario turns towards me. “Should he send her away, or…?”

“No. Bring her up,” I say, and clasp my hands together, “I’m curious to hear what business she has to offer.”

The guard nods and heads down the hall. Mario shuts the door and returns to the table, his black loafers tapping against the wooden floor.

“Do you have unfinished business with Mr. Williams?” Mario asks.

He rearranges the chess pieces into their correct order and picks up the chessboard, placing it into the side drawer of my office table. Pulling out a tablecloth, he dusts off the table.

“None that I’m aware of,” I say, as Mario wipes the table clean, “I’ve only met him once, as far as I recall. He was too honorable for the business he was leading.”

Another knock sounds at the door.

“That must be her,” Mario says, and places the table cloth into the drawer.

He marches to the door and opens it. A middle-aged woman stands on the other side, staring straight at me. She’s short but exudes elegance from head to toe, owning the space without even stepping inside. The woman struts into the room with her black stilettos and a purple cashmere shawl draped over her black, knee-length dress.

“Well, hello,  Mr. Serano,” she says, with a coy smile.

Mrs. Williams clutches her oversized purse as she walks past the white sofa perching on the silk rug.

She looks good for her age – that I can admit. She hardly has any wrinkles, and obviously lives a life of luxury.

With a slim figure and glossy red hair, she’d still be able to attract a few men, especially now as a deceased billionaire’s wife. Unfortunately for her, she’s far from being close to my type.

“Hello, Mrs. Williams. How may I assist you?” I say rather formally, and clasp my hands in front of me.

“Oh, please, call me Barbara,” she says coyly, and sits on the stool in front of the office table, “I’m sure you’re surprised by my visit.”

“Extremely,” I say, and squint at her, “I’m assuming there’s something you want.”

“Well, first, I have to congratulate you on your recent induction as Head of the Serano family,” Barbara smiles, flashing a pristine set of whitened teeth, “You know, your father and Darius had a long history.”

“I’m well aware.” I clench my jaw. “Did you just come here to exchange pleasantries, or is there something I can help you with?”

“Cutting right to the chase… No,” Barbara says, and the smile falls from her face, “I’m here because I need your assistance in… taking someone out of this world… discreetly, of course. I hear you and your family are very skilled in that department.”

A dry chuckle escapes my lips. “Oh, is that so?”

“Well… You have quite a reputation. And not only for your handsome men and Italian charm. You’re a house with many talents, and I would like your… assistance.”

She bends forward and picks up her purse. Zipping it open, she whips out a brown folder and hands it to me. I quirk a brow in suspicion as I open the folder and slip out a photograph.

“Who is this?” I say, and peer at the picture.

It’s a full-length image of a young woman. She’s stunning – curves in all the right places and a sizeable bust. Her eyes seem to be looking straight into my tainted soul. Even in her faded blue jeans and casual grey top, she draws my attention. Her dirty blonde hair is tied in a high ponytail. I feel a stirring in my pants as I wonder how her hair would look loose behind her naked body with her back arching in the air.

Mmmm.

I cross my legs and shake my head. Now isn’t the time to get carried away. But I can’t stop my eyes from staring at her slim frame. Her tiny shoulders look easy to grip on to, and those wide hips would do wonders in my playroom. I can already envision her ocean blue eyes rolling to the back of her head as I thrust my cock into her.

Wow.

I can’t deny it.

She’s beautiful.

Not just the standard kind of beauty I fuck on the weekends or the escorts I hire during my late-night urges.

No.

She has an innocent, raw, and natural kind of beauty. She’s exactly my type, and I want her.

No. I need her.

“This is Darius’s so-called daughter,” Barbara scoffs, “He had her out of wedlock before we got married. Even though he’d never met her, he wanted her to carry on his legacy. Left his business to her in his will. Of course, I can’t allow that to happen. A stranger barging into our lives, into our world, bringing down everything my husband fought so hard to build.”

“So, you want me to kill her so that you can obtain her portion of the inheritance. But surely his dying wish was to leave her his business – hence the will?” I ask, and trail a finger around the corner of the photograph.

“Oh that,” she laughs, as though it’s a mere detail. “That was merely a weakness on his part. He was an ill man with a heavy conscience – he couldn’t have been thinking straight when he made the changes. I was by his side when he was building his empire. And I will not allow a one-night stand to take everything Darius and I made together. Of course,” Barbara says, leaning forward as she places one elegant hand above mine, “You will be highly rewarded.”

My eyes widen as Barbara nibbles her lip and stares at me.

Great, now she’s hitting on me.

She may be hot for her age, but Barbara is old enough to be my mother. Even if I was desperate and horny, I wouldn’t sleep with a woman like her. I know all about her kind. Money-grabbing, relentless, merciless. Maybe she reminds me of myself in some aspects. I always get what I want, no matter what the price.

I stifle a grin. “Unless you’re compensating me in the form of money, I’m going to have to decline.”

Barbara’s face falls. She snatches her hand away, and her cheeks flush as she clears her throat.

“Yes, of course,” she says, “In exchange for this favor, your men can work at Delirium downtown. They’ll be responsible for all the security. Who goes in, who goes out. Everything…”

“Delirium,” I say, and my eyes widen, “That’s one of Mr. William’s exclusive private clubs. I heard he made a million during opening week.”

Barbara grins. “Correct. I’m sure your guys will enjoy the extra bit of cash. All you have to do is make sure that by tomorrow night, this young lady is dead.”

I gaze at the picture again.

The delicate hands. The snow-white skin. The wide grin.

I glance down at her bust. It looks firm, even underneath the loose top that conceals it. I slide my tongue against my teeth and wonder how her nipples will taste if I slide my tongue over them.

Mmmm.

I squeeze my hand into a fist to stop my erection from growing harder. If a picture has this much effect on me, I wonder how I’ll control myself in front of the real deal.

I have to make her mine.

I glance up at Barbara. Her wish will be granted. In a way. “We have a deal. I’ll ask Mario to arrange the paperwork.”

* * *

Jennifer

Jazz music bounces off the high walls of the auction house.

Propping my elbows onto the table counter, I monitor the front door and try not to take a nap even though I’m beyond exhausted. Last night, a rat sprinted underneath my bed, and I spent the entire night trying to catch it. There’s nothing more annoying than tiny little creatures that can scuttle away at the speed of light. Pest control charges a fortune in this city, and I’m already wasting money on my minuscule New York apartment.

To be fair, it’s a lot better than living in Sweet Home, Alabama, but I love the affordability and serenity of the countryside. People are a lot more laid back and kinder in the South. There’s a sense of togetherness that bonds everyone. New York, on the other hand, is filled with people ready to kill you to get what they want. Literally, a guy almost pushed me in front of a car to steal my taxi the other day — crazy bastards.

My eyes are already heavy with sleep, and I can barely manage to blink them open. Shaking my head, I lean forward to grab my steaming hot cup of coffee. I can’t allow my boss to catch me sleeping. I’m already on thin ice after breaking an antique mirror from Egypt last week. It’s going to take me ages to pay it off with my current salary. That’s what happens when you’re a clumsy idiot.

I glance at my cellphone. It’s almost six o’clock.

Almost time to leave.

I stand up and begin packing my bag. If I leave now, I’ll be able to catch the six-fifteen train instead of sitting for an hour on the subway. That leaves more than enough time to grab some Ramen before I collapse into bed.

But before I can daydream about another lonely night, I hear a knock, and my door starts to open.

“Hello?” I try not to sigh as I plaster a tight smile across my face.

Seriously? Couldn’t they have popped in an hour ago, or even tomorrow?

Oxford black shoes tap into view, scraping against the linoleum marble tiles. The shoes are sleek and glisten under the bright fluorescent lights. My eyes trail up the grey slacks and land on a fitted white shirt pressed against the broad chest of a well-proportioned man.

Wow.

His arms bulge slightly, and I can see his biceps popping, even through his shirt.

“Hello.”

His deep voice beckons me. I gaze upwards and, oh God, I try not to swoon at his full, pink lips. They pull my attention, and thoughts of what they could do to my body flit across my mind. He has a razor-sharp jawline with stubble and deep dark eyes that match his dark hair. What is this Greek God doing in my office?

I clear my throat. “Hello, I’m sorry, was I expecting you for an appraisal? Are you interested in purchasing an antique?”

The man smirks and glances directly at my chest, which is slightly exposed in my low v-neck dress.

Okay, rude.

While he may be attractive, that isn’t enough for me to side pass on disrespectful behavior. I pick up my agenda and whip it under my chin, disrupting his line of vision.

He shakes his head and gazes back at my face.

“No, we didn’t have an appointment, miss. I’m… Let’s say, an impulsive buyer. I’m looking for this,” the man smiles, and pulls an iPhone out of his pocket.

He turns the screen towards me. An image of a golden necklace with an emerald scorpion stands in the center. It’s an eighteenth-century model and looks slightly familiar.

Hmmm. I’ve definitely seen this before.

I whip open the catalog and page towards the end.

“There it is,” I say, and point at an identical model of the image, “It’s in the back room. I can take you there if you’re interested in seeing it.”

I glance at the clock and see that it’s two minutes to six.

Please say no, please say no, please say-

“Yes. I’d like that,” the man replies with a curt nod.

My shoulders sink. I try to maintain my smile as I walk around my desk and lead him through the corridors of the auction house. We stroll past walls of ancient paintings, medieval artifacts, and several rare finds displayed across the room.

“My name is Jennifer, by the way. Jennifer Lace,” I say, and turn back to him, “And you are…?”

He quirks a brow as he glances down at me. I feel tiny in his presence – he must be at least six feet tall.

“Sir is fine,” he says, and avoids my gaze as he looks around the building.

“Okay…” Usually, rich clients are the weirdest kind, and this one, in particular, has the “rough-tough, I take everything I want” vibe. So there’s no point in arguing.

We stop at the back of the auction house, and I press the keypad to unlock the door. The room is dark and slightly dusty, and we usually house our oldest and most expensive items here. The man brushes his arm against mine as he stands beside me, and a wave of electricity sizzles through me.

Woah.

Goosebumps race up my arm, leaving a memory of his touch. We lock eyes for a moment, and I see a reflection of myself in his dark orbs. I look flushed, and my cheeks are rosy. Man, he might be extremely handsome, but it was just a small touch. Looks like I’ve been on my own for way too long…

I step to the side to allow him to pass. “You can go first… sir.”

The man smirks.

He shakes his head. “Ladies first.”

“Uh, okay,” I say, and continue forward.

I feel his eyes piercing my back as I walk beside a glass cabinet displaying a row of jewelry. I trail a finger above it as we saunter past, gazing at the vintage jewels inside. We halt at the end of the row, and there stands the magnificent necklace.

It’s even more stunning in reality, and the green center shines brightly.

“Here it is,” I say, and wave my hand toward it, “The eighteenth-century green scorpion.”

He leans down to take a look at it.

His dark eyes widen in surprise. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Yes, it’s definitely one of our best pieces,” I say, “It’s pure gold, and the emerald in the center is over 100 carats and is one of the largest set emeralds in the world. This necklace was crafted during the 16th century for an Indian princess from her suitor.  Unfortunately, he died before they could marry. She remained faithful to his memory and never married but wore the necklace every day until she died.  It’s a very valuable and highly sought after piece. We’ve had several inquiries already.”

“Wow, you really know a lot about this stuff,” he adds with a dry chuckle.

“I kind of have to,” I say, “It’s my job. But I’ve always loved historical items. I majored in History and found that when you match each item to a story, it comes alive. This just isn’t a valuable necklace – to me, it’s a symbol of eternal love,  a love that never dies – no matter what. And, that, to me, is beautiful.”

I stare at the necklace and rub my fingers across the glass. When I glance back up, I find him staring at me with a look of awe.

My cheeks heat up. “Sorry. I’m an antique geek…”

He smiles softly. “Don’t apologize. That was… impressive. A lot of people scorn history like it’s something dead and finished. That’s a sad story, though. Remaining faithful to one person through life and even after death – is that kind of love even possible?”

I blush again. “Maybe you’re right.”

His eyes trail to my lips and then down to my bust as he twists a ring around his thumb.

Seriously? Can’t he look at my face for at least more than five seconds?

He might be insanely attractive, but I don’t feel comfortable around him. I can sense he’s trouble, and I want nothing to do with that. What I want is my peace of mind – a simple life.

“Anyway,” I chirp in, in an attempt to grab his attention, “The piece costs ten million dollars. Would you like it securely shipped or hand-delivered?”

“Oh, no, I just wanted to inspect it up close. An acquaintance of mine asked me to check it out,” he says.

My mouth drops. “You were just checking it out?”

Did I miss my train for this? Unbelievable…

“Apologies if I wasted your time,” he says, but his eyes dance with laughter.

He definitely isn’t sorry. In fact, it seems as he’s enjoying my frustration.

I press my lips into a thin line. “Well, since you had a nice time, ‘checking it out,’ I think we should go back to the front desk. I need to close up.”

“Okay. I just have to do one more thing,” he adds.

His eyes darken as he grabs my waist and places his lips on mine.
 

“I think she’s ok,” I say, my voice tight. “I’m going to fucking kill them all.”

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